Tuesday, April 2, 2013

A “Direct Actionist” Goes to City Hall

Now that Samuel W. Bean and his sweetheart, Maud Woodworth,
were married in late January, 1921, how did life turn out for them? After all,
both were recent graduates of the California
School for the Deaf and
Blind. Sam had been honored with several newspaper reports of his talent as a
recently-published poet. Even their wedding sparked headlines across the
country. Did they really find that their dreams would come true? Was it
possible for a blind and deaf man to make his way amidst the challenges of
“modern” life in the 1920s—and support a family as well?

As determined as Sam was—he certainly talked a good talk—I
must confess I had my doubts about how forgiving competitive American society
might have been in the face of the type of challenges ahead of him.

However, I underestimated the power of Sam’s positive
thinking. He certainly wasn’t one to give up easily.

Not long after the Beans’ wedding in January, a brief
newspaper report in the Oakland Tribune
revealed the types of roadblocks Sam was having to maneuver in his quest, like
any other young man of the time, to bring home a solid paycheck.

The Oakland Tribune
dubbed Sam’s approach “a straight-from-the-shoulder way of putting his book of
poems before the public.” Those poems, as the July 19, 1921, article explained,
“created considerable interest among the reviewers when they appeared a few
months ago.”

According to the Tribune,
“Several of the reviewers predicted a brilliant future for the greatly handicapped
author.”

So what happened? Evidently, despite the buzz over the
newly-issued volume, “book dealers…failed to do much with the production.”

I am wondering if Sam Bean had actually self-published the
poetry book. There is no mention that I can find of any publisher carrying the
title. Of course, without means of distribution, sales of the self-published
volume would be quite limited. Unless….

With his characteristic pluck, Sam evidently decided to
shoulder the responsibility for distribution, himself. According to the Tribune article, Sam “decided to go
directly to the reading public with his wares.”

Of course, there was still a barrier to instituting such a
plan: cities evidently had laws limiting door-to-door sales, which was the very
mode Sam intended to employ. His “straight-from-the-shoulder” approach,
apparently, had to be coupled with a petition to City Hall. In each of the
cities in which Sam intended to sell his wares, “he has secured permission from
the city councils to make a house-to-house canvass.”

And how would a blind and deaf salesman make his door-to-door
rounds? He would be accompanied by his bride, who also now acted as his sales
agent.

With a good natured determination radiating from Sam’s
approach, it is no wonder the Tribune
commented on his behalf,

Bean is a direct
actionist despite the triple handicap which would cause most men to give up in
complete despair….he will start out to let the world know what he is capable of
doing.

We have so many tools, now, to help us get out in that world. Can you imagine what it must have been like, back then, to get out and try to spread the word about what you've created? In my starving student days, I took a job as telephone solicitor. I think I lasted three days...maybe. Door to door? I couldn't hack it! And I can see. And hear.

I did not know that some cities had laws limiting door-to-door sales. We certainly don't have such laws here in CT, as far as I can tell. i'm waiting to see how much Sam could earn this way. I don't know what book dealers were like, back in the 1920s . . . maybe there were only a few major ones, so that even with good reviews people couldn't really sell their books without an agent and a marketing plan.

Just the effort of selling one's book door-to-door sounds heroic to me. Maybe that's just me.

About Me

It is my contention that, after a lifetime, one of the greatest needs people have is to be remembered. They want to know: have I made a difference?
I write because I can't keep for myself the gifts others have entrusted to me. Through what I've already been given--though not forgetting those to whom I must pass this along--from family I receive my heritage; through family I leave a legacy. With family I weave a tapestry. These are my strands.